


What Happens in Hawaii

by canticle



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Eventual Threesome, Exhibitionism, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: or, Takamaki Ann's gonna Get What She Wants(and so is everyone else)





	What Happens in Hawaii

The week that the school trip draws near, something electric starts to frizz between them.

Ann knows what it is, knows it’s been burgeoning since she first summoned her Persona, since they beat the shit out of Kamoshida’s Shadow and took back their pride, their confidence, their dignity. She feels it every time they enter the Metaverse, even if Akira thinks he’s subtle, even if Ryuji thinks he’s sneaky.

She knows they eye her up. From them, she welcomes it.

It’s not malicious in the slightest; she can appreciate being appreciated. And it’s not like she doesn’t appreciate on her own; Ryuji’s arms have been on display all summer, open to being oogled, and she _swears_ Akira had blushed when she gave him that very obvious once-over at the beach.

She’s a red-blooded teenager. She’s got _needs_.

Which is why she lets loose in Hawaii, away from supervision and consequences and _rules._

So maybe her hands have been wandering a little more than is acceptable. Maybe Ann slips her hand into the back pocket of Ryuji’s pants, or hooks her fingers through Akira’s belt loops, tugs them both closer to her as they walk through the streets of Hawaii. Maybe she gets a little obvious lapping the popsicle she buys off a roadside stand, but the feel of their eyes burning into her sets a fire in her belly, makes her feel strong, _brave,_ in a way she really hasn’t since Kamoshida.

It’s not like Akira and Ryuji mind, either.

She’s almost sure Akira knows what she’s doing. His eyes linger on her in a way he’s been careful to avoid doing before. Akira’s no saint, but he’s never oogled her to her face until now.

When she steps onto the beach in her brand-new two-piece, one even more risqué than the one she’d worn on their trip to the beach, the heat in his gaze licks over her skin like a physical caress.

“Where’s Ryuji?” she asks him late in the afternoon the first day.

Akira shrugs, eyeing the shoreline. “Ran off with Mishima, I think.”

“Then…” She swallows, watching his eyes trail down from her lips to her throat to…below. “D’you wanna walk me to my room?”

His eyes shoot right back up to hers, and even though her face is heating up she meets it squarely.

“Yes,” he says softly, stepping forward to rest a hand on her waist, so warm it’s almost scalding. Her eyes lid almost involuntarily when his thumb strokes across her skin. “I think I do.”

His hand doesn’t leave her side the whole walk back to the hotel. Ann feels electric, sparks zinging up and down her spine; she’s already wet, giddy with excitement, with the mere _thought_ of what she wants (and what she’s going to do to get it.)

They’re the only two people in the elevator, and Ann’s room is on the 18th floor. The silence between them is charged, as is the bare few inches of space between them. His hand is still on her hip, fingers brushing over the ties of her bathing suit, riding low.

She squeaks when he slips a finger into one of those ties and pulls it slightly away from her skin. “What—“

“Looking for tan lines,” he says oh-so-innocently, leaning down to see. He darts a glance at her, one side of his mouth kicked up in a shit-eating grin that makes her breathless, makes her want to rise to match it.

He may want to play cat-and-mouse, but he sure as hell won’t forget that Ann is a _panther_ before they’re done.

“You like what you see, then?” she asks, nonchalant, and shudders when his finger swipes over the line of her hipbone before retreating.

“Always have.” His voice is low, pitched only for her ears. The elevator creaks and sways around them, a counterpoint to the sound of their breathing, both a little fast, a little heavy. One hand skims up her side, slips the strap of her top half an inch to the side. “No tan lines here, either. Do you untie them?” He snaps the strap and makes her hiss. “Or maybe…” His fingers trail around to her throat, then down, until they rest right between the swell of her breasts. “Maybe you take it off entirely?”

The elevator jostles, throwing Ann off balance; she takes a step forward, her thigh brushing up against Akira, and she realizes with a vicious, giddy thrill that he’s _hard._

“Maybe I do,” she says low and throaty, tilting her head back to look him right in the eye and curling two fingers into the waistband of his swim shorts. “Maybe I like baring it all.”

“Maybe you do.” There’s no space between them anymore; when he moves his hand from her chest she bites back the feeling of loss, but shakes it off immediately when that hand moves to her ass, curling around and pulling her closer to him. She feels him against her and laughs, pressing into him with wild abandon. Everything feels effervescent, like a bottle of sparkling water in the sunlight. She’s made of fire and air and wants to _burn._

The elevator dings. They pull apart just in time for the door to open, revealing empty hallway.

Before he can move, Ann reaches up, drags his head down to hers, and kisses him.

When she pulls back they’re both panting for breath. Akira looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world, stumbling forward when she pulls him out of the elevator. She laughs, but only until he pins her to the wall right outside and kisses her again, both hands cupping her face as he laps into her mouth. “How far is your room,” he murmurs against her lips when she pulls away to breathe.

“The end of the hall…” They both turn to look; it’s so far away.

They barely make it twenty feet without trading kisses, without tumbling one another into a wall, without hands going into inappropriate places; at the hallway divot where the vending machines sit he presses her into the corner and skims a hand across her chest as he kisses her, dips a thumb into the cup of her bathing suit and pulls it just far enough out that he can look down into it. “Nice,” he murmurs, and Ann bites his neck, laughing the whole time.

“Well?” she says, throwing her shoulders back. “You just gonna stand there and look?”

“Guess not.” When his thumb slides across her nipple she whimpers into his mouth, presses herself into his hands. He’s very gentle, just strokes across it back and forth before rubbing in circles. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Sweet talker,” she accuses, though they’re both grinning madly; she gets a thigh in between his legs and presses up and he _groans._ Her own fingers linger at the sparse trail of hair that leads down his stomach; Akira is _very_ hairless elsewhere, but either he chose to do nothing about this or he likes leaving it there. “We should—“

“We should,” he agrees, pulling his fingers out of her suit top. She groans at the loss. “But do you really want to?”

“Anyone could walk by!” she hisses, trying to pretend she doesn’t like the thought.

“Yeah. Anyone could.” His fingers skim down her stomach, palming over her mound. She groans into the touch. “Just walk by and see me touching you. See me with my fingers inside you.”

“Not yet, they aren’t,” she breathes, and wraps her arms around his shoulders and one calf around his leg. She opens herself to him.

He takes it.

His hand slips inside her suit, fingers sliding slick across her clit. She whimpers when he strokes it, dips down and back up. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs to himself as in disbelief. “God, Ann…”

“Hurry up and touch me!” she hisses, digging her nails into his neck. He hastily does so, his fingers slipping through her, across her, like a brand.

It’s clear he’s never touched a girl before from the way he fumbles, and Ann can’t help but laugh into his ear, tilting her hips into his hand, groaning when he gets the angle right. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah right there—just keep right there—“

“Here?” His thumb flicks across her clit and she all but squeals. “Ah, watch your claws—“

“Watch them yourself!” she gasps as he effortlessly sinks two fingers into her. “ _Akira—“_

He kisses her again, she thinks mainly to shut her up. It’s probably a good idea. Usually she’s not this loud, but even a gasp can echo in this empty hallway, and if anyone decides to stop by for a drink they’re _screwed._

The thought is _amazing._ His mouth on her neck, his thumb butterfly-light and butterfly-fast against her clit, making her clamp down on his fingers and bite down on his neck. She’s shaking in his grasp; when he presses her back into the wall she’s too far gone to notice.

The angle is _awful._ “I’m getting a wrist cramp,” he grunts into her ear, shifting as if to pull away.

She digs her nails into his neck and he freezes. “Don’t—you— _dare—_ “ she hisses, rocking into his hand in tiny, uncontrolled motions. “I’m so—“

He makes a noise of understanding, maybe a little awed. “What do you need?”

She just shakes her head, buries it deeper into his neck. “Just—don’t slow down, that’s perfect, that’s—oh, oh oh _oh—“_ Her voice rises to a whine that she can’t bring herself to care about, because he doesn’t stop and neither does she, and when her climax hits it hits _hard._

It’s like the first time she summoned Carmen, a hot euphoric rush of flames consuming her, whiting out everything else in the world. Her knees are jelly; her breath catches in her throat. She clamps down around Akira’s fingers, and only realizes she bit down on his shoulder until she’s pulling away with a cathartic moan.

He exhales hard and pulls his hand away from her when she shoves him lightly, rubbing at the bite. She can’t bring herself to feel too bad about it, even when she sees the indents from her teeth. “Jeez,” she murmurs, relaxing her death grip on his neck and pulling her leg away from his, pushing herself up from the wall. She still feels warm and satiated as she adjusts her bathing suit for modesty.

There’s no helping Akira, though. There’s a very obvious tent in his suit that he runs a palm over just once, adjusting himself so it’s not so obvious. She shoots him a grin, languid and smug. “Well?”

He ducks his head and runs a palm through his hair, a sheepish grin curling his mouth. “It can wait till we get down the hall.”

And it does. But not for much longer than that.

**Author's Note:**

> not quite up to normal canticle standards, but i'm in wip hell and SOMETHING has to come out


End file.
